Conversations Between the Head and the Heart
by Melika Elena
Summary: Who would have guessed that stargazing on a cold winter's night with Madge Undersee would be the trick to melting Gale Hawthorne's icy heart?


**Conversations Between the Head and the Heart **

_"Was it love or fear of the cold that led us through the night?" - _Winter Winds, Mumford & Sons

He doesn't know what he's doing here. It's barely freezing, and luckily there's no bitter winter wind, but that doesn't make it much warmer. It's barely a consolation. It's a crisp winter night, a sort of cold that isn't cruel although it's still unapologetic. It still silently kills the poor and the feeble, the sick and the destitute.

She had told him, off-handedly while they all gathered at Haymitch's house to help train, that she liked stargazing in the meadow in winter better than summer; he scowled at her for it, bitterly remarking that when one had fur coats and mink muffs, what did a little thing like the cold matter?

Katniss had scowled at him, going so far as to punch him in the shoulder, and even Peeta pursed his lips disapprovingly. For her part, Madge gave him one of her brittle, tense smiles and then slipped out quietly, as was her way. Gale felt foolish at his petulant outburst but didn't apologize. Not for them. But he would for her. It was only right, after everything she'd done for him.

She's not wearing anything covered in fur, but the winter cloak she wears looks woolen and warm. He's not even envious, but wistful; he wonders if she knows how lucky she is, and then a small part of him thinks that of course she knows- people like him never let her forget her precarious, privileged, position.

"So you really do come here."

She whirls around, and in her hands she clutches a thermos. Suddenly his hands feel chilled, drained of warmth. He doesn't even wonder about the thermos itself- he wonders about her hands. They would feel warm in his. "Gale," she breathes, her voice hoarse from sleep and disuse. "What..?"

"My father taught me the constellations," Gale said, unable to look her in the eyes as he pulled the ragged blanket from behind his back and spread it on the ground. She would get a crick in her neck if she continued to stand like that. He sat and patted the spot beside him. "Although I'm more familiar with the summer ones, for obvious reasons."

She clears her throat, staring at him bug-eyed as though he's a snake, ready to pounce. "I don't understand what you're doing here," she says with all the bluntness usually reserved for Katniss.

Now it's his turn to fidget uncomfortably. "I'm trying to say I'm sorry," he says, unable to look at her. "For what I said earlier."

"Ahhh," he can't tell whether that's an acceptance or a snub. He won't look at her. "Well, then." He can feel her sit down beside him. Close enough to where he can feel the warmth radiating from her. It makes him wistful for things he can't name.

"Do you..." the hesitance creeps into her voice again, and now he looks at her. Her blue eyes are dark, but they glow with a childish hopefulness he usually only sees in Posy or Vick. "Do you want me to show you? The winter constellations?"

"Sure, Undersee," he says with more gentleness in his voice than he's heard- and felt- in a while. He feels hardened all of the sudden, weary. His usually straight shoulders slump, not so much a collapsing of weight, but rather a lifting of it.

She shows him the brightest of them all, Sirius, then Castor and Pollux, Betelguese and Rigel, Aldebaran and the planet Jupiter. She tells him a little bit about ancient Greek mythology, her voice lowering and face flushing a bit as she does- such ancient things aren't taught in schools and highly forbidden.

"Which is ridiculous," Madge frowns, "because even the name Panem comes from an ancient language."

"What does it mean?" Gale is curious, fascinated, about these past civilizations, these empires that rise and fell like the waves of oceans he's only read of and never seen.

Her rosebud mouth twists sardonically. "Bread," she says.

Gale snorts, scowling, but he's too at peace right now to feel his usual anger. "Fitting," he mutters. "What else can you tell me about these places?"

She goes on for a long time after, fumbling with foreign names and terms but nevertheless succeeding in painting a vivid picture in Gale's head. There are some parts of these systems that appeal to him, and other aspects that seem just as barbaric as their own. Although there are bloody games in arenas, at least they don't involve children.

"They were still slaves, though," Madge says, with a sad shake of her head. "They weren't free either."

"How do you know so much about this stuff?" Gale asks.

Madge bites her lip. "My father has some books in his library," she says, "not many. A lot of them he had to burn when he became mayor, but he still remembers a lot of things. He has a good memory and he would teach me these things like bedtime stories."

"Wow," Gale says, old familiar jealousy churning in his stomach. He tampers it down, though. He's finally beginning to understand that it's not her fault that she has access to such luxuries, such secret, precious things. The odds were just more in her favor.

He looks sideways at her, glancing at her profile, fixated on the sky. She really is kind, he thinks to himself. He had been nothing but snide and rude to her the entire time they've known each other and yet she still treats him as though they're friends.

They should be friends, he decides. He wants that, to be her friend. She's kind and brave and so much more than the spoiled princess he thought her to be. (And, he thinks with a slight flush, she's beautiful. She glows like a star.) The least he can do is return her friendship and kindness, especially after everything she's done for him. Has he even gotten to thank her for the Morphling yet? She did brave a snowstorm for him, after all.

Wait. He frowns. There's something that's not right here.

_It's winter, it's winter, _he thinks, and something about that shakes him to the core. He squints up at Sirius. It's fading away, growing dimmer as the sky grows lighter, a pale sky emerging from the east.

No. It's not fading away, it's hurtling towards them, a flaming comet- a bomb.

He begins to panic. He turns towards Madge, grabbing her hands urgently and hauling them into a standing position.

"Madge," he says roughly, "we need to get out of here. Come with me." He doesn't know where they'll go, how they'll hide, but he'll keep them safe.

She cocks her head at him, bemused. "What are you talking about?" She gives a slight laugh. "If you need to leave and go home, you're free to do so. I think I'll stay out here a little longer, though."

"No," he says, a desperation creeping into his voice. "No, Madge, listen to me-"

Madge squeezes his hand. The light grows brighter, it's blocked out the moon and the night. Gale can feel the comet's dangerous, vindictive warmth streaming upon him mercilessly. "No," she says softly. "You know I can't."

"What?" He's furious, shaking with a helplessness he doesn't understand. What is he waiting for? He could just fling her over his shoulder and run. He's not worried about his family, for some reason, not even Katniss or Prim. He knows they're safe, he knows they're alive. But Madge? She's not Seam. She doesn't understand how to survive. "What do you mean _you can't_?"

Gale's ready to throw her over his shoulder, he's already bending at the knees, but he's just at her height now and she pulls him forward and kisses him on the mouth, and they melt together like the star has already hit them.

Slowly, after a long while (but not long enough, never long enough,) she pulls back. "You know how this ends," she whispers.

"I know," he chokes out, realizing what's happened. "I can't- I'll see you again, won't I?"

"Don't you remember the song?" She whispers, as she washes out in the light until the only parts he can see of her are her bright blue eyes. "Here is the place where you can always find me."

"Madge," he gasps out, consciousness filtering in like sunshine through his blinds. He doesn't open his eyes, though; he knows what will greet him- a big, empty bed. Empty life. His dreams are sweeter than life.

Plus, with his eyes closed he can still hear the echo of her words.

_"Here is the place where I love you." _

000

**Notes: **Whoops. I think thegameisfantastic, who requested this on tumblr, probably wanted a happy fic. My bad.


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